We Are Extraordinary
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: Kozmotis loved his daughter unto his own damnation, and as the vile creatures clawed their way under his skin, Kozmotis knew the bitter truth; that a real hero would never have faltered, would not have failed. Companion piece to "A Hero to Serve You" Jack Frost/Kozmotis Pitchiner


This story contains explicit BDSM elements, please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

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"Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery. Bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love."  
**- **Morihei Ueshiba

Kozmotis Pitchiner had never considered himself a hero. He was just a man, albeit one who'd joined the military and worked his way up to General, but he bled no different than anyone else, and his life had no more and no less value than any other. He is fair to his men, and they flourish beneath his care. In an unheard of precedent, he is the first to befriend Sanderson the wishing star, a powerful being who'd appeared from the ether one day with a determination to aid their fight, and a celebrity in his own right. Kozmotis also becomes known for rubbing elbows with royalty and beggars alike, holding none in higher regard then the other, and of course, leading dozens of successful military campaigns with minimal casualties. The public seems to adore his dignity, his humility, calling him the hero of the people, a shining light against the encroaching darkness. But all public approval came with a price, and he'd eventually given in to the societal pressures that came with his rank and status, marrying a woman of good breeding he barely knew and didn't particularly love, but didn't actually hate. Impregnating his wife and waiting for his child to be born was just another rote duty at first, something expected of him more than anything he'd ever truly desired himself. To be honest, it was more then he'd even thought to desire, as most soldiers had a life expectancy far shorter then he'd already achieved.

The moment he'd first held his daughter, his precious Seraphina, was a moment Kozmotis had not been able to prepare himself for. He was overwhelmed with the emotions welling up from within as he gazes at her small, perfect little face. From then on, Kozmotis knew that he could no longer afford to be just a man. Somehow someway, he had to find a way to be better, to be more, if only to give his daughter, his most dearly beloved the peaceful world she deserved. So he fought harder, planned his attacks more carefully, until finally every last Fearling in the universe sat locked in a great cage. The world called him a hero, but Kozmotis knew that he was only a man driven by love, willing to fight unto death and beyond for the child he so cherished. He was no hero, simply a man, but even so he stayed as the lone guardsman of the great cage, a locket with his daughter's lovely face his only beacon against the dark.

Kozmotis loved his daughter unto his own damnation, and as the vile creatures clawed their way under his skin, Kozmotis knew the bitter truth; that a real hero would never have faltered, would not have failed.

For countless untold millennia, Kozmotis's life passes him by in brief flashes of light amidst and endless ocean of shadows. Usually he sleep, or dozes, or passes his time insensate to it, for what is time with no denomination, no benchmark with which to set the non-existent clock?

Time is indeterminate, is slips through his fingers and flings itself past him and he knows not what his body does, what tunes his malleable meat revels to, except for the tiniest, most hesitant of glimpses, usually when the monsters beneath his skin are defeated, weakened enough that he comes to sharp, brilliant awareness for a single inhalation, just long enough to fill his lungs with the promise of freedom before he is smothered by the black once more, unwilling passenger in the forgotten little corners of himself.

Until one day, his eyes blink open, to a light that blinds. He feels cold, but not uncomfortable with it, lying in a powdery softness that cradles his bruised, battered form. He attempts to move, to push his arms beneath him for leverage to rise, but he aches too much, can only moan with the pain of even curling his fingers. He does not know how long he lays there, drifting, waiting to be returned to darkness, but the shadows never come. Instead he feels the still-falling snow slowly pile upon him, insulating and hiding him from prying eyes. He eventually slip into a different blackness, not the malicious one he's grown used to, but to the blessed neutrality of sleep.

How fortunate for him then, as it would have likely been very painful, when, barely a half hour later, a young Guardian trips over the figure hidden beneath the fresh snow.

When Kozmotis next awakens, a large, bearded man is hovering over him, and Kozmotis has a flash of _fear,_ his own but not, a remnant of his previous possession, because for all the shadows had laughed and hissed and taunted their enemies, they had been brought low before and never forgot the faces of those who had conquered them. The room is unfamiliar, he has no idea where his Sera is, and it is that split-second that Kozmotis realizes that he is empty, hollow and aching, and should his chest not have burst, been ripped open by the force of the darkness leaving? Should his skin not have split? Why is he whole outside, when inside he is a mess of gaping holes, a Swiss-cheese man beneath flawless skin and why is the light so bright? Do they not know that he burns in the light? Perhaps the bright light burnt all the shadows out of him, but left nothing of Kozmotis left, maybe that is why he hurts, why everything hurts, the light on his eyes and the sound of the screaming on his eardrums and the man's smile and the sheets on his bare skin his fingers digging gouges into the skin of his face where he is clawing at his eyes… oh.

Kozmotis is the one screaming, isn't he?

He stops only when Sanderson puts him to sleep.

It is Sandy who sits with him when he awakens next, panic rising until his friend is able to soothe him. It is only Sandy after that; Kozmotis does not see the bearded man again, although he hears voices outside his door occasionally, one of which he swears must belong to him. Days pass, become weeks, Kozmotis does not leave the little room, opting instead to sleep, or to spend his days attempting to read the books Sandy brings him in the strange, unusual languages of the planet he now resides upon. The learning process is slow going, largely because you can only learn so much from books, and without hearing the language spoken, well, it was difficult to navigate pronunciation and proper syntax and colloquialisms. Kozmotis is not ready for visitors though, no, the very thought gets his heart pumping, blood singing in his ears. They would fear him, he knows, he's not stupid, Sandy has filled him in enough that he knows the atrocities committed by his hands while he slept, weak and inert in his own shell. He can still empathically feel fear, and still register the pull of the non-sentient shadows to his call, powers so fully ground into all his crevices and niches that they belonged to him now. Considering that, he has no intention of walking into a room full of people who would weep inside at his presence while he can't help but enjoy the sensation, even unwillingly.

It is this anxiety, a manifestation of his own fear of rejection that has him stalwartly ignoring Sandy gentle attempts to encourage him to reach out, to leave the room, to meet the other Guardians, as Sandy called them. Kozmotis knew that way lay only fear and disaster, so he refrained, unable to prevent the uncertainties that seeped in like so much water; the voices in his head telling him that he did not deserve the companionship and kindness anyways. The feelings of guilt did nothing to stop the creeping loneliness and continuing sense of isolation however, so he took to listening as Sandy described his cohorts in glowing, loving detail; the small man unable to hide if affection and fondness for his companions. Kozmotis found himself particularly intrigued by tales of the youngest, newest addition, a boy named Jack, who was the one who had found Kozmotis in the snow, and had even lent his gift for Joy, to Sandy to help purify the last of the Fearling taint from Kozmotis's own body. In his time as a soldier, and later a General, Kozmotis had met many people like the friends Sandy described, warriors and leaders in their own rights. Jack though, Jack was like no one Kozmotis had ever met, assuming Sandy was accurate in his description. Jack laughed in the face of danger, played games to cheat death, and treated his own untimely end as a longstanding joke, barely even bothered by the implications. Kozmotis couldn't deny that, he found the idea of someday meeting the boy intriguing.

Someday.

Eventually.

Maybe, if ever a day would come that he felt worthy. In the meantime, there was always the never-ending guilt that ate him up and spat out his bare bones to distract him.

As time passed however, Kozmotis could not ignore the exhaustion tugging on his friend, dragging him down as the weight of his responsibilities and Kozmotis's own care slowly began to overwhelm him. Kozmotis longed to be better, to improve, to not need as much supervision, but he was currently weak; and ultimately selfish in that weakness, so nothing changed.

Then, there came a day when his dinner was late, when Sandy simply failed to show at the appointed time. For a man who had missed eons, Kozmotis now found that his once-impressive internal clock had sharpened to near perfection, and he could practically count the seconds that dragged by as Sandy continued to not arrive as he was expected to. When the knock on his door finally came, Kozmotis had already been pacing for hours, worried and anxious and starving, wondering if Sandy was hurt, or simply tired of dealing with him. The latter was perhaps an uncharitable thought against Sandy's good nature, but Kozmotis was sometimes and uncharitable man. He finds himself floored however, when upon opening the door, he encounters a boy.

A boy with ruffled white hair, a face as pale as porcelain and a thin, diminutive frame made of all youthful angles. It is the eyes that capture him however, blue and hypnotic, full of as much uneasiness as Kozmotis also feels. There is determination in the set of the boy's shoulders though, and no fear, so with only slight hesitation and much curiosity, Kozmotis lets him in.

Oh, stars above, no _fear._

Except there is, isn't there? Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear that the boy will somehow hurt Kozmotis just by being in his space, and while the idea is laughable it makes Kozmotis's breath catch, because this boy, who could only be the Jack Frost Sandy had spoke of if by physical description alone, does not fear him, only for him.

Kozmotis may not have been currently deserving of such consideration, but the thought of Jack's care for him just _does things_ to him he hadn't quite been expecting…

And the boy is beautiful, and it's been a long, long time since Kozmotis had been so close to anyone who wasn't Sandy, so when his attempts to calm the younger man's fears result in the boy looking at him so intensely while leaning in closer, Kozmotis does not hesitate to reciprocate.

The kiss is sweet for only a moment, before it transforms into something lustful, wicked. Kozmotis is not even sure he remembers what it had felt like, to be that young and desperate, but Jack reminds him, with little finesse but much enthusiasm. Jack's hands are on Kozmotis's ribs, and his surprisingly strong fingers are digging in enough to bruise, and then Jack bites his lip; Kozmotis can't help it, he submits himself to the rising tide of passion and _burns._

But then Jack is abruptly yanking himself from Kozmotis's arms and flinching when the former General moves to pull him back. It's only then that he discovers that Jack's bite to his lower lip has drawn blood. Kozmotis is so startled, not by the small injury, but by the heat that had filled him when he realized that Jack had marked him; the sudden desire to be possessed, to be _owned_ filling in the empty places that shadows had left. But Kozmotis's lip is already healing over and Jack is running away in panic and Kozmotis doesn't have to heart to go after him, not when he's only just uncovered this unexpected seed of deviancy in his soul.

So Jack flees, and Kozmotis settles in to wait for Sandy, but mostly to sort his thoughts.

It doesn't take much to convince his friend that Jack had been pleasant, charming company, and that Kozmotis would like to see him again. It is more a lie of omission than anything, Kozmotis doesn't feel the need to tell his friend that he'd made a probably very inappropriate, if not at all unwelcome advance onto his friend's teammate. So Jack is given the daily task of taking dinner to Kozmotis, being relegated in one fell swoop to both errand boy and evening entertainment, all because Kozmotis is selfish enough to take advantage of anything that will bring hi, further into Jack's orbit. Kozmotis does not mention the kiss, mostly because he knows it was too much too soon, and that these things take time and patience to properly nurture. Any lingering awkwardness between them fades quickly as they work out a method of communication, soon becoming so proficient that even Sandy can't keep up with their hastily cobbled together dialect. Kozmotis soon finds himself setting aside time every day to work on it, flushing out the structure and refining the grammar in the hopes that one day it will be a full language in an of its own, something only he and Jack will share.

Kozmotis can't deny that the more time he spends with Jack, the more he treasures the small things they share, especially the things that no one else gets; the secrets and little smiles and sidelong glances that are currently piloting his soul.

Soon, Kozmotis is leaving his room and breaking bread with the rest of the Guardians. Each tiny step forward should not feel like such a huge victory, and yet they do, for each step forward takes him closer to Jack, closer to being worthy of the younger man's affections. Sometimes when alone in bed at night, Kozmotis lets himself imagine what it would feel like to be at the epicenter of Jack's passion and violence, and the thoughts are so moving he can't resist the urge to take himself into hand until spent, wiping away the traces of his lust afterwards but feeling the brand of it on his heart regardless. Kozmotis cannot forget the kiss, the way Jack had gripped him, strong enough to keep him from cracking into a million little pieces and Kozmotis cannot fully explain it but he _needsneedsneeds._ The fact that Jack is so wholly wonderful and clever as well just makes it feel like he's the kind of gift Kozmotis could spend forever trying to properly earn.

The days drift on in a holding pattern, Kozmotis carefully biding his time. He is stronger now, vastly improved from the day they'd first met, and while the guilt and fear of regression stays, a stubborn stain never to be removed, he finally declares himself ready to act. Eventually, when the timing feels right, he convinces Jack to take him home. He is a knot of nervous energy, and he knows Jack is the same, the boy somehow having read the subtle energy of his intentions. The tour of Jack's little home is a sacred glimpse into the other's most private of souls, and Kozmotis cannot help but draw out every moment, going over every inch of memory and shelter the place has to offer, knowing that precious few are allowed into this private space. When the anticipation finally overcomes his nerves he seats himself on Jack's bed, drawing the other into his air until every one of his exhalations feeds Jack's inhale. They tumble together then, and Jack is _glorious,_ far, far physically stronger then he'd ever appeared and more dominant than Kozmotis could have guessed at. Their bodies and desires find such rhythm and words are not even required, and Kozmotis finds himself on the edge of tears, willing to do _anything _the boy asked as long as he never, ever let go.

That night they make love three times, each time finds Jack manipulating Kozmotis's willing body in any way he desires, the man more than happy to be made a living puppet. Jack is more than possessive; he is powerful, and Kozmotis can begin at last to feel himself let go, to relax into Jack's embrace and trust him not to allow him to fall. For all Jack appears delicate and childlike, he is a force to be reckoned with, body mind and soul and for the first time in his life Kozmotis finds that he is comfortable giving up his control, turning himself over into the care of another wholeheartedly, knowing that Jack would never, could never steer him wrong or let him down.

Even better, Kozmotis knows that he's met his match, his true equal, and that if the shadows and Fearlings should ever return for him, that Jack would stop at nothing to either save him or end him so that no more would suffer at his hands.

So Kozmotis sits still as Jack crosses his arms over his chest, binding them there with silk ropes wound tightly around his torso. He is already blindfolded and gagged, the black fabric against his face somehow accentuating the feeling of total nakedness. His right hand clenches a bell that can be dropped as a signal if something goes too far, but Kozmotis knows he won't need the failsafe, Jack always knows exactly how far to push. The ropes are tied tight then, immobilizing his upper half like a mummy before he's eased back onto Jack's narrow mattress. His legs are stretched out side by side, and then a length of the same rope is slowly wound around them, tying them together and effectively hobbling him completely. He trembles both with the anticipation and the touch of fear that always flavours these encounters, both on his part and on Jack's, as both are afraid of disappointing the other, but Kozmotis trusts his lover as Jack trusts him, so the fear is only an added spice in the already excited atmosphere. When the knots are done, Jack rolls Kozmotis onto his stomach and steps away, and Kozmotis can hear the rustling of clothing as his lover disrobes. Jack takes his time, and Kozmotis's tremble increases, his already hard and weeping cock waiting impatiently trapped between his thighs and the bed sheets. Soon though, there is coolness and pressure as Jack returns to the bed, looming over his lover by his hip. A cool hand traces over one taut asscheek before the hand is brought down, hard and punishing. Kozmotis cannot help his yelp of shock, the pain from the blow spreading across his rear and he can feel his skin flushing just in time for the second blow to hit. The force of it drags a moan from deep in his chest, the pressure driving his hips and cock into the mattress and causing pleasure to shoot up his spine. Three more strikes and the pain and pleasure are now mixing, each slap making Kozmotis want to thrust into the sheets beneath him while somehow simultaneous lifting his hips back for the next smack. He tries to stay still, to say quiet as Jack would wish him too, but it's all too much, each starburst of pain/pleasure anchoring him in reality and making him feel safe and loved, because Jack's dominance and control belonged to him and him alone. Just when he feels like he's about to topple over the edge however, the relentless spanking stops and Kozmotis is casually flipped to his back, both the loss of friction to his aching erection and the rubbing of the sheets against his abused flesh dragging a low groan from him.

Jack steps away again, and Kozmotis feels himself shake, panting and sweating and dying for any small scrap of mercy, for any further violence, for anything at all to make him come. He hears the wet popping of a lid opening, and smells that sent of the ginseng massage oil that is their preferred lubricant. It is only seconds but feels like hours before the hands are back, teasing his body from head to toe with gentle, feather-light touches made slick and exotic by the oil. Kozmotis jerks and twitches as first one leg then the other is caressed around the ropes by cold fingertips, only to be replaced by a wet tongue. Jack strokes and licks his chest, arms and belly as well, before moving up to trace the shape of Kozmotis's face like a blind man, the sharp angle of his cheekbones and his too-long nose and his thin lips before he begins to move lower again. Behind the gag Kozmotis can hear himself sob, a high desperate sound, begging his lover without words for more, or less perhaps, Kozmotis isn't sure by this point.

The hands retreat a final time and the cap pops again; this time there are wet, enticing sounds and soft sighs that brings such incredible images to Kozmotis's mind that he can't prevent himself from cursing the blindfold that is keeping them from him. When he feels Jack's final return, the slight body crawling his way slowly up the bed from the foot, hovering over Kozmotis for only as long as it took to line himself up, and then Jack's perfect body was sinking onto Kozmotis, enveloping the older man in blessed, tight coolness. Kozmotis barely had a chance to get used to the sensation though before Jack was moving, working himself up into a sharp, quick pace, knowing that they were both too worked up to draw it out any longer. Kozmotis was tense, pushing up as best he could into his lover's welcoming body and wishing he could touch, could taste, could see the bliss on Jack's face as he rode him like a prize horse. But Jack had set the rules as he always did, and today Kozmotis was only allowed to feel, to be taken, to be used like a glorified toy at Jack's own whims, and that should have been degrading to him, but he could think of nothing better, nowhere he'd rather be, and _oh-_

Jack's orgasm grants permission for Kozmotis to come too, and he does, endlessly, breathlessly, body arched tightly against his lover before his passion is exhausted and he slumps to the mattress, Jack small body draped over him like a human blanket.

In a minute or two, Jack will climb off. He will get the towel the keep nearby for cleanup and will wipe Kozmotis's body clean of sweat, oil and semen, untying the ropes as he goes. He will remove the gag and the blindfold. He will spend the nest long minutes carefully rubbing feeling back into limbs gone numb and pressing little kisses to the marks the ropes have left until Kozmotis feels giddy and spoiled with the affection. They will snuggle together then, talk a bit perhaps if the mood for conversation hits them, and then they will sleep in each other's arms, reciprocal balms against the loneliness and solitude that had plagued them both for so long.

Right now though, they remain collapsed together, sweaty and spent, tears pricking at the edges of Kozmotis's eyes beneath the blindfold, because this is still something he's not sure he's yet earned, this compassion, this devotion. Jack is a brilliant creature, a lovely and surprisingly pure soul despite his inherent Trickster nature.

He makes Kozmotis laugh.

He holds him when he cries.

He is the strength when Kozmotis is weak, the candle in the night when he can't see. He is the reason and the truth and the love that found Kozmotis when he thought himself lost and forever damaged.

Kozmotis would do anything for Jack, perhaps even damn himself a second time if it meant keeping the other safe, healthy, whole.

Because Jack, like only Seraphina before him, made Kozmotis want to be hero.

And this time, he _will not fail._

"We relish news of our heroes, forgetting that we are extraordinary to somebody too."  
**- **Helen Hayes


End file.
